Over the years
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: This is a 3 Chapter fic about Sherlock and Mycroft's childhood and what makes them drift apart. I own no characters, all ideas are mine and I'm pretty sure none are canon.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft was a bright child. Of course, duh. He came from two great gene pools of academic brilliance, he was bound to be some kind of genius. It was all fine and good for Mycroft Holmes.

And then he turned 7 and Mummy and Father informed him that he was getting a new baby brother for Christmas. For some reason, they thought they could get it past him that Mummy wasn't pregnant, but of course nothing escaped him, even as a 7 year old.

On January 6th, Mummy and Daddy left Mycroft with the nanny to retrieve their new baby. Two days later he arrived, and they stared at each other for an hour until the baby fell asleep.

"What's he called, Mum?" Mycroft asked.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft made a face. "Sherlock?"

"Don't make those faces."

"What's it mean?"

"It means 'bright hair'."

Mycroft made a face again.

"Stop making faces, Mycroft."

Mycroft learned to like his baby brother just fine. The baby was quiet, which Mycroft appreciated, but he didn't do much which bored Mycroft. Mostly Mummy would let Sherlock roll around on the floor and Mycroft would stare at him, trying to study every single thing the baby did. Sometimes he'd take the baby into his room to read to him, or they'd sit on the second floor balcony and watch the stars.

When Sherlock began to talk, he provided Mycroft with more entertainment. Mycroft read to Sherlock all the time, Mycroft taught Sherlock new words almost daily. The toddler's vocabulary was almost better than most kids' Mycroft's age.

Mycroft did almost everything for Sherlock. Mummy would get them up for the day, Nanny would dress them, Nanny would make them breakfast, then Mycroft would take Sherlock to explore or teach. Sometimes Sherlock would be too tired to learn, so Mummy would read Peter Pan to Sherlock and Mycroft. They'd still be learning, yes, but Mummy's voice was always perfect for letting their imaginations soar.

Mycroft liked to do things for Sherlock. He liked to be in charge and the teacher and the caretaker. Plus, Father told Mycroft it was his duty to keep an eye on Sherlock and Mummy. Father would go to town every weekend for work, and he'd come back on Tuesdays. On the second Tuesday of the month, Father would bring the boys gifts. That's how Sherlock learned to count days and weeks, by his father leaving and coming home.

Before Sherlock's fourth birthday, Mummy and Father began acting very strange. Mycroft was eleven, and as bright and observant as he was he picked up on his parents' strange behavior. Every few afternoons, Mummy would go to town to shop. While she was gone, the phone would ring twice, then hang up, then it'd ring three times, then Father would answer. The house had two lines, one in Father's office and one in their parents' bedroom, so one afternoon Mycroft listened in on Father's call. It was a woman, and they were talking about weekend plans, which hotel they were going to stay and where they were going to get reservations. Mycroft realized that maybe Mummy and Father were acting weird because Mummy knew, but Mycroft wondered why she wasn't doing anything about it.

Mycroft began to cry and quietly hung up the phone. He ran out of his parents' room and down the hall to Sherlock's room.

"Mikie?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his puzzle. He looked alarmed at his older brother.

"Ssshh," Mycroft locked the door and want to Sherlock's bathroom. He washed his face and contained himself, and by then Father was knocking on the door.

"Mycroft? Are you in there? Open this door."

Mycroft hesitated before going to the door. Sherlock still looked alarmed, but Mycroft pressed a finger to his lips telling Sherlock to keep quiet about what just happened. Mycroft opened the door to his cross looking father.

"Yes, Father?"

"Why was the door locked?"

"It was? I must have accidentally locked it."

Father looked suspiciously at the boys, but asked what they were doing.

"Puzzles!" Sherlock shouted.

"All right," Father said, "Wash up for dinner. And if the phone rings, don't answer it."

Mycroft's eyes went wide and he said, "I won't."

A few months later on January 4th, Father left for work and never returned. Mycroft and Sherlock waited in the library, staring out the large window anticipating Father's arrival. Sherlock's birthday was two days ago and he was hoping to get a large, large gift.

"Do you think Daddy's going to bring me a big present, Mikie?"

"I'm sure he will."

They waited for almost two hours, and when he didn't show, Sherlock turned to Mycroft and asked, "Are you sure it's Tuesday?"

"Yes, Sherlock. It is Tuesday. Don't worry, ok?"

At dinnertime, Mummy came to the boys and made them have dinner. Sherlock pouted and didn't eat, and Mycroft felt like crying. He didn't cry, though, because he knew that if he cried then Sherlock would have a tantrum.

"Mummy," Sherlock asked during dinner, "Am I going to get a present from Daddy?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," she said. Sherlock began to pout, so she continued, "But I'll tell you what. Tomorrow we'll go to town and get any present you want. Will you like that?"

Sherlock's tiny face grew into a large smile, "Oh, yes! And Mikie, too?"

Mummy turned to Mycroft and ruffled his hair, "Yes, Mikie, too."

That night, Mummy took Sherlock from his bed and took him to her bed. He contently slept next to her, and around midnight Mycroft made his way to her bed, too. Mummy pulled Sherlock close to her and let Mycroft lay next to Sherlock. Mycroft realized that it was going to be that way from now on: just Mummy, Sherlock, and himself.

Mycroft felt awful because Mummy cried a lot, but he did what he could by helping out with Sherlock. He'd take Sherlock more and do things with him. They liked to explore the forest around their home. As they went, Mycroft would point out different things that Sherlock needed to learn: different trees, leaves, bugs, plants, cloud patterns. Everything Sherlock learned he learned from Mycroft.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Sherlock and Mycroft spent a lot of time together, on numerous occasions, Mummy would take Sherlock so he could do things with her. They'd read in her bed or pick flowers in the garden or play with Sherlock's toys. Mycroft grew annoyed because he wanted to teach Sherlock. Mycroft felt like Sherlock was a play thing to his mother and not a child that needed to learn. Mycroft felt very disconnected from them because Sherlock was her baby, and she very much unintentionally favored Sherlock. When Mummy and Sherlock would be doing something together, Mycroft would do something on his own a distance away from them.

Sherlock began to get spoiled by his mother's attention. Over the year after Father left, Sherlock grew into a brat. He'd bother Mycroft and know he'd get away with it because Mummy wouldn't be mad. He'd ask Mycroft to do everything for him like fetch him water or demand Mycroft to read to him, even if Mycroft was busy with his own work.

One afternoon, Sherlock got on Mycroft's last nerves. He grew so angry at Sherlock that he shouted, "You're adopted, Sherlock!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means Mummy is not your real mum, and your real mum didn't love you enough to keep you."

Sherlock was confused, but he shook it off. "That's ok, I like the Mummy I have just fine."

"No, Sherlock. She's not your Mum. She's my mum! Just go back to where you came from! Probably Mars, no doubt!"

"Stop shouting. I'm going to tell Mummy."

"She's not your Mummy!"

Sherlock began to cry. He ran back to the house as quickly as he could, and Mycroft ran to hide. Sherlock found his mother in her room, where she usually was.

"Sherlock, darling, what's the matter?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock sniffled, "Told me you're not my real mummy!"

She scooped up baby Sherlock in her arms. She held him close enough for him to hear her heart beating quickly. "There, there." She soothed, but her heart was still racing and it made Sherlock uneasy.

"Is he right, Mummy? Are you not mine?"

She took a deep breath. "He is right, Sherlock. I'm not your biological Mummy. That means you didn't come out of me. But my darling," she took Sherlock's chin in her hand, "I love you no less. You are my baby, all mine. I've never loved anyone more than I love you and Mycroft. I am your Mummy, and I always will be." She hugged him tight.

Two hours after Mycroft told Sherlock, he came back into the house. He went to their mother's bedroom, where her and Sherlock were painting on the bed.

"Mother," Mycroft said, scared, "I'm sorry for telling Sherlock the secret-"

"Come here, Mycroft."

Mycroft thought he was in trouble. He gulped and went to the bed. Their mother placed her arms around Mycroft's shoulders and hugged him tight. "It's all ok, Mycroft. We're still a family, just the three of us. And I love you both equally."

"I'm sorry, Mother. And Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Mikie." Sherlock hugged his big brother as tight as his little arms would let him.

After that, Mycroft made a silent vow to always protect Sherlock, and Sherlock made a silent vow to _try _not to bother Mycroft so much. Mummy didn't want them to go to school anymore, so she hired and tutor for Mycroft and Mycroft continued teaching Sherlock.

Sherlock grew more and more smart each day. He loved Mycroft to teach him. He'd listen to Mycroft and absorb everything Mycroft said. At age six, Sherlock was learning things that Mycroft was learning because he'd sit in on Mycroft's lessons. Mycroft was still more clever, though, and Sherlock was eager to learn how to be more like his brother.

Sherlock's first clever deduction was when he was seven, and it was that Father left because of him. He was proud of himself for realizing it, but he needed proof before fully taking the blame. He asked Mycroft about it one afternoon while they were doing lessons.

"Mikie," Sherlock asked, "Did Father leave because of me?"

"What are you talking about? Of course not." Sherlock looked disappointed, so Mycroft asked, "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that Father didn't come back for my birthday. And he never really spoke to us, remember? And—"

"Father didn't talk to us because he was always busy, Sherlock. That doesn't mean it was our fault."

"No, _my _fault. And since I was adopted, what if Father didn't want me anymore?"

"Sherlock that's not it," Mycroft said.

"Is there something wrong with me, Mycroft? Is that why Daddy didn't want me anymore?"

"Sherlock, listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. It's just that…well, a long time ago Father chose Mummy to make a family with, right? Well, he found another woman to make a family with."

"So there's something wrong with Mummy?"

"No! Nothing is wrong with Mummy," Mycroft turned his back and muttered to himself, "Mummy is perfect."

"Then why'd he choose another mum?"

"I don't know."

"Why would he choose to not live with Mummy anymore?" Sherlock asked like it was the most absurd idea he'd ever heard.

Mycroft laughed, "Well, Sherlock, one day you won't live with Mummy either."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're going to go find a woman that you want to marry and make the mum of your children. And you'll live with her."

Sherlock made a disgusted face, "I would never do that."

"One day you might."

"I'm never going to leave Mummy's house."

"You can't live here forever."

"Why not?"

"Because one day you'll grow up and be on your own, Sherlock!"

"I don't want to."

"You'll have to."

"Peter Pan never grew up," Sherlock said, then went about playing in the yard.


	3. Chapter 3

For Sherlock's sixth birthday, Mycroft and his friends built a playhouse for Sherlock that was just past the garden in the backyard. It was made of wood, not very well made because it was constructed by four thirteen year olds, but Sherlock loved it nonetheless. Each day, the house would turn into something different. One day it'd be a spaceship, one day it'd be a haunted house. Mycroft envied Sherlock's livid imagination, but he played with Sherlock anytime he'd ask.

Sherlock had asked Mycroft to read Peter Pan to him again, and by the time the book was finished for the fourth time, Sherlock decided he wanted to be a pirate. He constructed his own sword and made his own costume. Mycroft would play along; sometimes he'd be Peter, sometimes he'd be Mr. Smeed; sometimes he'd be Tiger Lily. Mycroft played along, though.

Mycroft asked Sherlock what he wanted to be when he grew up. Sherlock gleefully smiled and said, "A pirate!"

"A pirate? What kind of pirate?"

"The kind that has his own ship and eye patch and hook!"

"You want to be Captain Hook, then?"

"He doesn't have an eye patch, Mikie. Remember the film Peter Pan?"

"Oh, right. Are you going to be afraid of crocodiles?"

"Of course not, I'm not afraid of anything."

Mycroft laughed. "Why do you want to be a pirate?"

"If I'm a pirate, I can move to Neverland."

"Why'd you want to do that? Don't you know they don't have mothers?"

Sherlock stood stunned for a minute then said, "Perhaps I'll think it over."

The years went by and eventually Mycroft stopped playing with Sherlock and Sherlock stopped playing. They both focused on studies, and by the time Sherlock was twelve he went to a real school. All the kids thought he was strange because he _was _strange. He'd never been in a school before, he had no idea how to interact with people. He began to act out and got in trouble a lot. Mycroft would be called to leave school if their mother wouldn't tend to Sherlock.

One afternoon, Mycroft was called to pick Sherlock up from school. Sherlock was almost thirteen and got in trouble for fighting an older boy.

"What was that about, then?" Mycroft asked as he and Sherlock rode out of the city towards home.

"What was what about?" Sherlock tried to make his voice deep and intimidating like Mycroft's.

"The fighting, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock shrugged, "He didn't like what I said about him, so he punched me. I punched him back."

"I told you not to use your training to hurt someone."

"I didn't hurt him."

Mycroft glared at Sherlock, "He's at the hospital, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged. "I said I was sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it. You might not be able to go back."

"I'll just find another school."

"You're running out! There are only two schools left that you haven't destroyed."

"I won't find another then. Private tutoring worked for you."

"No, you're going to school."

"Why?"

"You need to grow up. You need to be socialized at school—"

"Why? You weren't."

"You and I are different."

Sherlock shrugged again, "I'm not going back."

"You've got to grow up," Mycroft said, then murmured to himself, "No more Neverland."

"What?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft looked at his younger brother, "When you were younger you told me you were never going to leave Mother's. That's your Neverland."

Sherlock pouted and stared out the window.

"What did you tell the boy?" Mycroft asked.

"Mmm?"

"The boy that punched you. What did you tell him?"

"Oh! I told him his mother is having an affair."

"How did you know?"

"I saw her this morning. Her ring, her clothes, her scent; it fit together."

"I told you to stop deducing strangers."

"What's fun about deducing people I already know? It's no fun knowing you haven't eaten lunch."

The next year, when Sherlock was fourteen, his attention was caught in London by the death of young Carl Powers. He knew there was more to the drowning than just the fit in the water, but nobody believed him. He gathered as much evidence as he could and worked it all out in his mind, but there were still missing pieces and the unfortunate dilemma that he was only a child and nobody would listen to him. He tried to go to Mycroft with the data. Six times Mycroft turned him down, and finally Mycroft heard what he had to say.

"Sherlock, there's no substantial evidence to go on."

"I just _know, _Mycroft. I swear this boy was murdered."

"But Sherlock, when there's nothing to go on—"

"Listen to me, Mycroft!" Sherlock slammed his books and folders against Mycroft's desk, "I know what I'm talking about here! I just…I know! You've got to listen to me!"

"I haven't got to, Sherlock, and please keep your voice down."

Sherlock's face grew into full anger and he glared at Mycroft, "You've always stood behind me and you've never doubted me, what makes this different?"

"It just is different, Sherlock. I stood behind you when you deduced that a woman was having an affair. This is a real issue, Sherlock. You're not messing with a kid at school, this is a real thing."

"Yes, I know it's a real thing, but—"

"I will not tell you again."

Mycroft's voice was stern so Sherlock stopped. He gathered his things and left Mycroft's office, slamming the door on his way out.

From this incident, Sherlock grew angry and resentful towards Mycroft. He stopped listening to and trusting Mycroft, but Mycroft stood his ground and began acting more like a father figure than a brother. This angered Sherlock even more because somewhere in his mind he felt like Mycroft was going to leave him just like his last father. This made him distrust Mycroft even more.

To prove he was cleverer than Mycroft has ever been, Sherlock decided to solve crimes. He loved to do it and it was very easy to him. He went to school and in the afternoons he'd sit in on lectures at the university. When he'd run into Mycroft he'd walk the other direction and not speak to him.

Things were never the same between them. They fought a lot more and competed with each other constantly, making their mother very upset. She distanced herself from the house, too, which made Sherlock act out even more. He wouldn't go to school and instead he'd spend all of his time on solving crimes.

Sherlock grew up and left his mothers, then Sherlock got involved with drugs and other things that got the worst of him. Mycroft stood back and watched, knowing that interfering would make things worse, until Sherlock nearly killed himself overdosing. He, along with DI Lestrade, got Sherlock into rehabilitation and got him healthy. Sherlock moved back to his Neverland for a while, but after that he went back to London to pursue his life of solving crimes. Then, Sherlock met John and Mycroft felt more at ease, until the Moriarty problems.

But we all know how that turned out, don't we?

* * *

><p><strong><em>*These ideas have been coming to me for months now and I finally sat down and wrote them out. I hope you guys enjoy because I kind of enjoy it myself. If any of you have read <em>All Their Differences, _you'll know that the bit about Sherlock's adoption comes from _Chapter 13. **

_***Please, please, please let me know what you think. It'd mean a lot to me. Thank you for reading! **_

**_*Oh and for the readers of _Paragraphs of Parenthood _and _Short Stories of Parenthood, _you will now fully know that I have a severe obsession with Peter Pan. What's not to love? _**


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